(And what | learned from it.) BY MARK YOST

OONSBORO, MARYLAND, November 19, 2011—Until Saturday, November

B 19, 2011, Ihad never run farther than 26.2 miles at a time. I consider myself

a marathoner and a long-distance triathlete, but I had been reading about

ultras in Marathon & Beyond since shortly after I started running, learning about

Badwater, the Western States 100, the JFK 50-miler, and other races. I also read

Born to Run and other books. Each time I read an article or a book, I wondered whether ultramarathons were for me. How hard can they be?

I discovered endurance sports later in life—in my mid-40s—after a call-up to active-duty military service immediately following the terrorist attacks of 9/11. Back in the military, where physical training is a daily routine, I began to run again. A few years later, I ran my first marathon, and two years after that, I did my first triathlon. I’ve enjoyed some success since then, qualifying for nine consecutive Boston Marathons and for the Ironman World Championships in Kona twice. After turning 50, Iran a 2:54 marathon and a 1:22 half-marathon, and I’m hopeful I can go a little faster. In some ways, it’s good to have low mileage late in life. But these are sprint distances compared with an ultra, and I kept wondering: could I go 50 or 100 miles? I never had to face the reality of an ultramarathon simply because I could never fit one into my schedule. But the allure remained.

In 2011, I decided to force it by cramming the JFK 50 Mile in between the NYC Marathon on November 6 and the beginning of my Ironman training cycle on December 1. The complication was that I didn’t have time to train properly for the 50-miler. I had competed as a member of Team USA in the International Triathlon

I raced at the Ironman World Championships in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii, on October 8. Following that, I raced the 2011 NYC Marathon, which was about two weeks before the JFK 50. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to train and taper properly for

the JFK 50, I compromised: I decided to run the 50-miler but not race it. I would generally rely on my Kona conditioning, pretend that the NYC Marathon was my last long run for the JFK, and then use the JFK 50 for rebuilding my base for 2012. My primary goal was to finish it without an injury. My secondary goal was to have fun. accomplished my primary goal, suffering no injuries during the race or afterward. As for the secondary goal, the race was totally fun—except when it wasn’t.

My secret weapon: a first-class crew

What made the race very special for me was my crew, Sadj and Bob Bartolo. Sadj is one of the founders of my triathlon club, the Mid Maryland Triathlon Club, and Bob is an accomplished marathoner. Both are as supportive as they are inspiring. When they offered to be my crew, I readily agreed. They work the finish line at the Lake Placid Ironman and have greeted me every year for the past few years. I would soon learn how important their support at the JFK 50 would be. They were there at the Weaverton Cliffs with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, pretzels, and fluids; they were there at mile 27, when I needed antacids badly; they were there at mile 38, where I needed more and bigger antacids; and they were there at the finish. Wearing yellow coats throughout the day so I could spot them, they were a sight for sore eyes, tired legs, and aching feet. Each time I saw them, my spirits soared. And when I took off, I knew it would be about two more hours of running before I saw them again. But they kept me going.

Another source of encouragement to do the JFK 50 was a good friend, Rick Schofield. Rick, also a member of my tri club, is an engineer by training. He has influenced me in the past, so perhaps I should have been more circumspect. At the 2010 Ironman World Championships 70.3 in Clearwater, Florida, Rick persuaded me to shave down for the triathlon to eliminate additional aerodynamic drag. I followed his advice and continue to do so. Thanks to that advice, I’ve cut some time off my triathlons and maybe several years off my marriage. (My wife not only doesn’t understand triathlons, marathons, or ultramarathons, but she is very suspicious of a 53-year-old man who suddenly starts shaving his arms and legs. She hasn’t yet accepted that I’m merely trying to become more aerodynamic.)

In any event, Rick and I came to some sort of mutual understanding that we would both do the JFK 50. And there would be no backing out. And we would have fun. Except when we weren’t. I also decided unilaterally that I would run with him. And if and when he surged, I would follow.

The JFK 50 Mile course is spectacular. It begins in Boonsboro, Maryland, where you climb 2.5 miles on a road up to the Appalachian Trail, gaining 1,172 feet in the first 5.5 miles. Except for a long uphill stretch on a fire road, you run 13 miles on a very rocky and rolling stretch of the Appalachian Trial, affectionately known as the AT. The trail is scenic, but the runners don’t see much of the

scenery. You put yourself in harm’s way if you take your eyes off the trail. It requires every ounce of focus and concentration on the trail to avoid a trip, a fall, and a potentially serious injury.

At the end of the AT, around mile 15.5, you descend over 1,000 feet on a series of steep switchbacks at the Weaverton Cliffs, pass under Route 340, and drop onto the Chesapeake & Ohio (C&O) Canal towpath. The next 26.3 miles westward are almost pancake flat along the gravel towpath next to the Potomac River until you turn north for the final 8.4 miles along country roads to the finish line at Williamsport, Maryland.

For those not lucky enough to have Bob and Sadj as their crew, there are fully stocked aid stations at miles four and 10 along the AT and then about every three to four miles thereafter. There are enough porta-potties along the 50-mile course, something I have been unable to say about Ironman triathlons sponsored by the revenue-hungry World Triathlon Corporation. The JFK 50 volunteers are unbelievable, the race organization is superb, and each aid station is a banquet offering Gatorade, cola, water, sandwiches, potato chips, cookies, brownies, energy gels, pretzels, energy bars, and more.

Getting into the ultra swing of things

Idrove out from Bethesda, Maryland, on Friday afternoon, the day before the race, arriving about 5:00 p.m. at the Clarion Hotel in Hagerstown for packet pickup. Rick was already there with his father, and my friends Deb Saltz and Matt Mace arrived shortly thereafter. Ultra expos are pretty low-key affairs. There may have been several tables selling stuff, but it seemed more like a high school reunion. Everyone seemed to know each other, except for me. I picked up my number, stopped by a local grocery store for some last-minute items, and met Bob, Sadj, Rick, and his father for pasta at Ledo Pizza. Following dinner, we parted company until the 6:00 a.m. rendezvous at Boonsboro High School, which was about 13 miles from Hagerstown.

Before they left, Bob and Sadj took the transition bag that I had packed. As an ultra rookie, I had no idea what I would need during the day, so I packed two plastic bags containing water bottles with powder for my fluids (Accelerade and Nuun), extra socks, extra shirts, extra shoes, antacids, and my nutrition (PBJ sandwiches, potato chips, extra gels, and chocolate-and-yogurt-covered pretzels). At miles 15, 27, and 38, they would have the bag ready for me: each time, the stuff was laid out for a quick transition. Each time, though, I wanted to linger.

The forecast for race day wasn’t pretty: 27 degrees with a wind chill between 17 and 21. But it also wasn’t accurate: it was a balmy 36 degrees when we arrived at Boonsboro at 6:00 a.m. with light, almost nonexistent, winds. During the race, it was near perfect, warming to the high 40s with light westerly winds and sunny

skies. I wore a long-sleeve Boston Marathon shirt under the Mid Maryland tri top and was perfectly comfortable all day. I wore sweats along the AT because I thought I might be cold since I was going so slowly. They were too much, and I dropped them at mile 15. I carried the two-bottle belt I use for long training runs and stocked it with antacids, gels, and other stomach stuff.

As I always do before marathons and triathlons, I awoke four hours before the start to eat and stretch. Although this was my first ultra, I was more relaxed because I was just running it, not racing. Instead of listening to Heart and Boston on the iPod as I usually do when I stretch before the race, I listened to Dan Fogelberg and Frank Sinatra. It was a very strange morning; despite my fears about the distance, I’d never been so relaxed before a race—I mean, before a run.

I was slated for the 7:00 a.m. start, but there is also a 5:00 A.M. start for elite senior athletes, runners with a minimum of 10 finishes, and charity runners. The 5:00 A.M. starters, who would have to negotiate part of the AT in the predawn darkness, would wear different-color bibs.

I made it to the Boonsboro High School gym by 6:00 a.m. for the 6:20 A.M. briefing, where I met Bob and Sadj. Michael Wardian was there, looking fast and relaxed. I saw at least six people carrying 2011 NYC Marathon bags, so I felt that I was in good, if not equally crazy, company. The atmosphere seemed to be one of quiet confidence. The ultramarathoners struck me as low key, friendly, and generally relaxed. Rick, my self-selected running mate, was nowhere to be found.

Instructions from Mike

Mike Spinnler, the race director since 1993 and a two-time winner (1982 and 1983), welcomed us. He then provided a safety briefing tailored to the course. Those who were serving in the military, or who had served, were honored. The roots of the JFK 50 can be traced to 1963, when President John F. Kennedy challenged military officers to meet the standard set forth by Theodore Roosevelt: to keep their commissions, they must be able to cover 50 miles on foot in 20 hours. The “Kennedy Challenge” was born. Known initially as the JFK 50 Mile Challenge, it was later known as the JFK 50 Mile Memorial until it assumed its current name. It has been held every year since its inception. The race on November 19, 2011, would be the 49th.

Mike also told us that the 49th annual JFK 50 was limited to 1,000 entrants and that use of the AT portion of the race was in jeopardy starting in 2013. It’s the Appalachian Trail portion of the race that makes it unique and incredibly challenging, thanks in large measure to the efforts of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. Mike encouraged us to support the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, and the JFK 50 Mile website contains information on how to join the ATC or volunteer to support its important work.

JFK 50 Mile course under fire

Race director Mike Spinnler explained that for the 49th JFK 50, race organizers had obtained permission from all federal and local entities for 1,500 entrants, except for one person. Pamela Underhill, the AT Superintendent at the National Park Service, refused to allow more than 1,000. She also has taken the position that, after next year, she will not allow the JFK 50 Mile to include the Appalachian Trail as part of the course. Runners are encouraged to contact Underhill to discuss her position by calling her at (304) 535-6279 or by sending an e-mail supporting preservation of the AT for future generations of JFK 50 runners to pamela_underhill@nps.gov, with copies to Dennis Reidenbach, Northeast Region, Regional Director (dennis_reidenbach@nps.gov); Bud Otis, chief of staff for Congressman Roscoe Bartlett (bud.otis@mail.house.gov); and Senator Max Baucus (msb@baucus.senate.gov). Mike also mentioned that there is draft legislation intended to preserve use of the AT for the JFK 50 Mile, and he encouraged us to contact our legislators in support of House Resolution 13.

At 6:40, Mike steered us out the door and about 1,000 yards onto Boonsboro’s main street and the line for the 7:00 a.m. start. I was so relaxed that I missed the start. Bob, Sadj, and I sauntered down together, but I couldn’t find Rick. When the gun went off, I was about 400 yards from the starting line. Whatever, I thought. What’s another few hundred yards and a couple of minutes in a 50.2-mile day? You aren’t racing, remember?

When I got to what had been the starting line about two to three minutes after the gun, my friend Deb Saltz confirmed that I was in the right place, although a bit tardy. I started to run easily up the hill to warm up. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, although in a fatalistic sort of way. Many were already walking the uphill to conserve energy. About a mile in, Rick called my name when I passed him. Reunited, we started to run together. I was watching him carefully, expecting the “Schofield surge” at any moment.

A porta-break that loses Rick

Arriving at the top of the very long climb, we turned onto the trail leading to the fire road and the Appalachian Trail. Not being in much of a rush, I decided to use a porta-potty just before the first timing mat, and I promised Rick that I would

catch up. I was in and out in seconds (this is one of those times it’s good to be a guy), and I took off after him, but he was nowhere to be found.

After a mile or so, I feared that I was indeed the victim of a surreptitious Schofield surge, so I picked up the pace, passing all sorts of ultramarathoners on the trails, up the long fire road climb, and back on the AT to the first water stop around mile four. So much for running with Rick. I would later learn that he innocently decided to jump into a porta-potty seconds after I did; I came out first and left him behind. In any event, we never saw each other the rest of the day. Not being able to find him, and since waiting isn’t my thing even when I’m not racing, I decided to just run.

I cannot adequately describe how difficult it is to run on that portion of the AT. It requires unbelievable concentration, excellent balance, and a measure of good luck to avoid an injury from a fall. Rocks and roots are concealed by the fall leaves. Climbing isn’t so bad, but the descents are crazy, and passing people is lunacy. (But most of us out there seemed to be lunatics, anyway). To their credit, the JFK 50 organizers put staff, including medical staff, along the AT portion to deal with the few runners who suffer injuries. I went down three times but fortunately missed hitting my head on the rocks or spraining an ankle. A few others around me weren’t so lucky. I stopped to help one guy who fell and hit the rocks hard. It didn’t slow him down for long. Ultramarathoners are a tough breed.

Trail courtesy

My pace was glacial on the trail. Part of the problem was the single track; it was hard to get around people. With my relaxed start, I began at the back of the almost 1,000-runner pack. I still wasn’t racing, but I was looking for Rick. Most everyone ran single file, but there were several groups running side by side ona single track. I waited for an opportunity and then politely asked to get by. Even with runners in a single line, in order to avoid injury, it was absolutely critical to let them know you were getting ready to pass. I found ultramarathoners to be polite throughout the race. I reciprocated by moving well to the right or stepping off the trail when I heard someone coming up behind me at a faster pace.

The other problem was the terrain: I was working hard to maintain a 10-minuteper-mile pace. Each step involved a discrete decision. I feared straining a tendon or spraining an ankle. There are many muscles and tendons in the foot, and each of mine was working hard. My psoas were complaining by mile six. Now I understand why ultramarathoners wear trail shoes and gaiters. As the miles progressed on the trail, I found it harder and harder to maintain my concentration. Once I caught a small tree just before I fell, straining my back but avoiding a nasty tumble. The back loosened up after a few minutes—nothing serious—but the almost constant lateral strain was new to me when running. I felt pains in my feet that I

The author begins the descent toward Weaverton.

had never felt before, and the plantaris tendon in my left calf (injured in 2010 just days before Ironman Lake Placid) was really unhappy. I settled in and tried to run easily, but I remember thinking repeatedly, This is hard! And where is Rick, anyway? Mike Spinnler had cautioned us to be most careful on the Weaverton Cliffs switchbacks and not try to make up time. A twotime winner and frequent finisher, Mike knew what he was talking about. The descent was treacherous. Two of my three falls on the trail were on the

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switchbacks.

It took me almost three hours to cover the 15.3 miles from the start in Boonsboro to the Weaverton Cliffs timing mat. I usually run 6:45 to 7:15 pace in a marathon, but here I couldn’t even hold 10 minutes per mile. Not long after the timing mat, I found my loyal crew, Bob and Sadj, trail side. After a nonurgent transition where I traded my glasses for sunglasses, ditched the stocking cap and the sweat pants, grabbed my lunch, and replenished my fluids, I was off. I immediately ate some salty chips and started on the white bread PBJ (skipping the crust), but I carried the pretzels. The white bread has no fiber and metabolizes easily; the yogurt-andchocolate pretzels settle my stomach and add some calories; and I’ve found that I tolerate chips while exercising. My stomach was holding up well at this point, probably because the pace was so slow on the AT.

I remembered an ultra saying that I had only read about: “If you feel good, don’t worry. It won’t last.” This is so true.

I picked up the pace a little but eventually settled back in around 10-minute pace. I had planned a long, slow, distance training run, but the truth is that during 24 of the 26 miles along the river, I couldn’t have run much faster if I had wanted to.

I think this was for three reasons:

1. My legs and feet were beaten up pretty badly after the 13 miles on the AT. For the first time ever, the soles of my feet hurt, my left psoas was angry, my left calf ached, and my IT bands were whining.

2. After a few miles, that old friend nausea returned and hung with me until about mile 39 or 40. After mile 25, I couldn’t take many calories. (I carried a plastic bag of those pretzels for miles, until long after the chocolate and yogurt melted from the heat in my hands.)

3. Because I had planned an easy training run, I lost the mental battle before it even started. I spent much of the towpath run thinking about how much I hurt rather than about my pace and breathing, which is what usually carries me into “the zone.”

It was about mile 19 or 20 that reality struck. I knew, of course, that a 50-miler would be longer than a marathon, but how long hadn’t really hit home yet. At this point, I realized that I had been running well over three hours, and, in a marathon,

Feeling good while it lasts.

I would usually be showering by now. I did the math. I had about five hours to go at this pace!

At mile 27, | offered Bob and Sadj the understatement of the day: “This is hard.” They stocked me up with antacids, fluids, and encouragement, and I was off again.

Interacting with the folks

I discovered one pleasant aspect of ultramarathoning: the shortterm relationships you develop with those around you. I’m not used to talking much in the “sprint” distances of 13.1 and 26.2 miles, but ultramarathoners seem to bea chatty bunch. Encouraging words are common when you’re passing or being passed, and it seemed that I ran within several hundred yards of the same runners for several hours. One guy who passed me on the Weaverton Cliffs asked me later how I was doing after my fall. Another, David from Columbus, Ohio, whom I had met at the grocery store the evening before, complimented my newbie pace, telling me I would finish in 8:30 if I held it. (He was accurate within 16 seconds.) Another, Jim from Long Island, told me at mile 46 as we parted company that I would be in the top 200. “OK,” he said, “for a rookie.”

I passed one guy around mile 37 wearing a 2011 NYC Marathon shirt. “Are we crazy or what?” I asked. He laughed and asked how NYC went for me. “3:07, you?” I replied. “3:05,” he said as I passed, “keep it up; you look strong.” Strength is all relative in an ultra. I certainly didn’t feel strong.

The dead zone of the 30s

The miles from the low to mid-30s were, for some reason, the hardest miles. The terrain was flat and scenic with the fall colors and with sweeping views of the Potomac River to my left, but the nausea surged. I didn’t eat, and my pace

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slowed. The GPS watch lost the satellite signal, and ignoring the mile markers along the towpath, I fantasized that I was running faster than I actually was. It started tracking again, but I was sure it was off. I was shocked (again) into reality when I discovered that the GPS was right. I had two more miles to get to Bob and Sadj at mile 38. Salt, antacids, and a gel or two powered me through. I never did stop drinking and was grateful that I had both bottles, switching back and forth between Accelerade (my primary source of calories) and Nuun (my primary source of electrolytes). Like clockwork, Bob and Sadj were there and had me set up for a quick transition. I told them, only half joking, that maybe I would just do the JFK 38 this year, but they both gave me a hug and a friendly push and sent me on my way. This time I had grabbed three large Maalox tablets. That did the trick. By mile 39, I was already feeling better and got some calories down, including a couple of gels with caffeine.

Most of the guys I had been running with started to fall behind, and at mile 41.8, we turned off the towpath and onto the country roads for the 8.4-mile trek to Williamsport and the finish line. There is a long hill at mile 42, and I adopted the ultra way: walk the hills. I usually run hills well and view them as an opportunity to catch people. Ultras are different. The energy loss isn’t worth the marginal time gains. I also found that a long stride walking did wonders for my IT bands and hamstrings. By the time I got to the top, I felt pretty good. And then around the mid 40s the most amazing thing happened: I started to feel better and better, and I was able to run faster and faster. The runners were pretty spread out by now, but they began to come back to me. For a few miles, I ran in the nines, then dropped to the eights, and even ran mile 49 dipping for a time to sub-eight pace. I concentrated on relaxing and breathing deeply. Mentally focused, I ran strongly and easily around the corner into Williamsport and then to the uphill finish at mile 50. There were Bob and Sadj at the finish line, just like the Lake Placid Ironman—only better.

The last few miles were, in many ways, the easiest of the day. It is bizarre to feel so good at 45 miles after feeling so rotten at mile 30. A lot of things happen to your mind and body in 50 miles, and I’m not sure I understand exactly what or why yet, but like an Ironman triathlon, I think it centers on proper nutrition and mental tenacity.

I finished in 8:29:44, placing 15th of 141 in the 50-54 age group, with an average pace of 10:12. My splits looked more like a long, very slow, training run:

Mile 2.5—28:43 (including a late start and a long climb)

Mile 15.5—2:50:30 (the Appalachian Trail portion)

Mile 41.8—7:08:30 (turning off the towpath just before Dam 4)

Mile 50.2—8:29:44 (what’s with the two-tenths of a mile, anyway?)

While my view is probably skewed by the fact that I didn’t train for an ultra and I ran it two weeks after a reasonably fast marathon, I think an ultramarathon is

Home at last—mile 50.2!

simply harder than an Ironman. In an Ironman, you use different muscles in the bike and the swim, and then you have to run only 26.2 miles after the bike! In an ultra, you pound those same muscles for seven to Godknows-how-many hours

There is nothing better than crossing a finish line, particularly in the JFK 50 with an uphill finish at the middle school in Williamsport. After the finish, race organizers offered hot showers at the middle school and hot burritos by Moe’s. I was obliterated, but most everyone around me looked as though they had run only a 10K.

Afterward, in the locker room, I saw Jim from Long Island. We had run a few miles together somewhere in the mid-40s. Jim was an experienced ultramarathoner and was just starting to run more marathons. We shared training tips on the road, since this was my first ultra and he was preparing for his first Boston. In the locker room, almost unable to stand, I looked at him and said, “Ultramarathoners are tough.” Jim looked knowingly at me and said, “And now that includes you.” “Oh yeah,” I said, not fully convinced that one race was enough for me to wear such a title.

The 2011 race had perfect weather conditions. Two runners, Dave Riddle of Cincinnati, Ohio, and Michael Wardian of Arlington, Virginia, broke the course record, running 5:40:45 and 5:43:24, respectively. For the women, the top finisher was 50-year-old Meghan Arbogast of Corvallis, Oregon, who ran 6:35:16. These are very impressive times. Michael is always awe inspiring. The next day, November 20, while I could barely walk, Michael would win a 5K in the Washington, DC, area, running it in about 16 minutes.

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Although I wasn’t so sure for a day or so after the finish, I’m certain now that I want to go back to the JFK 50 Mile again. If I can get in to the 50th-anniversary race in November, I’ll race it and see what happens.

I’m also thinking about the 100-mile distance. How much harder can it be? Probably more than twice as hard, but there is only one way to find out.

And what | learned from it

1. Ultras are not meant to be training runs, and 50-mile runs do not make for good recovery runs after the NYC Marathon. Go in rested, tapered, and ready to race.

2. Specificity is critical to train for any race and even more so for ultramarathons. Run really long. Practice nutrition, particularly after 25 miles. For the JFK 50, run the trail in training. And run the trail portion in trail shoes. Practice running on those rocks and roots!

3. Focus on core strength. Trails like the AT place considerable lateral strain on the core, feet, and legs. Strong tendons in your feet, ankles, and calves are critical.

4. Nutrition is key. Keep the stomach settled. If you stop eating, your pace will plummet. I am using the large antacids for the whole race next time rather than the small ones that I used from mile 20 to 38.

5. Ultras are at least 50 percent mental. But they also hurt a lot. Like an Ironman, prepare for the pain. Because I thought of this as a training run, I didn’t prepare. I lost the mental battle with pain early.

Postscript: A few days before this article went to press, I learned that I had been accepted into the SOth anniversary JFK 50 Mile on November 17, 2012. Time to put those lessons to work. Game On! Mg

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